“Well, Uncle Jep ain’t here. Ef you don’t want to——”
“Oh, that’s all right Judith. Of course it’s all right. But you say you’re goin’ to ride to Lusks’?—to ride?” hesitated Wade uneasily. Judith flung up her head and stared straight at him with angry eyes.
“Yes,” she said finally, “when I leave this place for over night I’d ruther know whar my hoss is at. I’ll take him along.”
“Oh,—all right,” her cousin hastened to agree; “I never meant to make you mad, Jude. Of course I’d jest as soon saddle up for you. I don’t wonder you feel thataway. I never like to have anybody use my ridin’ critter.”
Judith had made her point. She let it pass, and went sombrely on with her preparation for departure. Wade still hesitated uneasily. Finally he said deprecatingly,
“Ef ye don’t mind waitin’ a minute I’ll eat my supper, an’ ride over with ye—I was a-goin’ after supper anyhow; I want to see Lacey Rountree ef he’s not gone back home yit.”
“I’ll be glad to have ye,” answered Judith quietly. “I don’t mind waitin’.” And Wade, plainly relieved, hurried out to the stables.
They rode along quietly in the late summer afternoon; the taciturn habit of the mountain people made the silence between them seem nothing strange. Arrived at the Lusks’, both girls came running out to welcome their visitor. She saw Wade’s sidelong glance take note of the fact that Grandpap Lusk led away Selim to the log stable. Lacey Rountree was gone home to the Far Cove, and Wade lingered in talk with Grandpap Lusk a while at the horse-block, then got on his mule and, with florid good-byes, rode back home, evidently at rest as to Judith.
The evening meal was over. Judith helped Cliantha and Pendrilla prepare a bit of supper for herself, aided in the clearing away and dish-washing, and after they had sat for a while with Granny Lusk and the old man in the porch, listening to the whippoorwills calling to each other, and all the iterant insect voices of a July night, went to their own room.
“Girls,” said Judith softly, drawing the two colourless little creatures to the bed, and sitting down with one on each side of her, “girls,” and her voice deepened and shook with the strain under which she laboured, “I want you to let me slip out the back door here, put my saddle on Selim, and go home, quiet, without tellin’ the old folks. I was goin’ home by daylight in the mornin’ anyhow, to get the boys’ breakfast,” as the girls stared at her in wordless surprise. “I’ve got a reason why I’d ruther go now—and I’d ruther the old folks didn’t know. Will ye do this for me?”